


romance 'n' all that jazz

by rarepairenabler



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Classical Music, Jazz - Freeform, M/M, Music AU, Rivalry, Trumpeter Hinata, Violinist Goshiki, busker au, street performer au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-19
Updated: 2016-08-19
Packaged: 2018-08-09 19:21:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7814065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rarepairenabler/pseuds/rarepairenabler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The smile drops from Goshiki face and his steaming cup of coffee nearly slips from his hand when he realizes: there’s someone already standing there. Standing in <i>his</i> spot. </p><p>Someone with messy orange hair, tufts sticking out haphazardly beneath their beanie. Someone so short, Goshiki initially panics that he’s been upstaged by a middle-schooler. Someone whose eyes flutter shut, cheeks hollowing as they jab their fingers down on the valves of their trumpet. Someone whose lips curve into a smile around their mouthpiece and knees jump in time with the upbeat music they’re playing.</p><p>Someone who’s assaulting poor, unsuspecting passerbies with the offensive noise known as jazz.</p><p>OR: AU where Hinata and Goshiki are rival street performers</p>
            </blockquote>





	romance 'n' all that jazz

**Author's Note:**

  * For [owlinaminor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlinaminor/gifts).



> [there's now art!!!](http://tobioslilgiant.tumblr.com/post/152101154302/candy-harlot-snuggly-goshihinas-from)

The sun’s still rising, only a crescent of light peeking out along the horizon, when Goshiki arrives at his favorite spot. He’s even earlier than usual- his warm coffee’s steaming, his cropped bangs blow in the breeze, and a small smile tugs at the corners of his lips as he internally applauds himself for his diligent preparation.

The smile drops from his face and his steaming cup of coffee nearly drops from his hand when he realizes: there’s someone already standing there. Standing in _his_ spot. The spot he’d found after _over a year_ of routinely switching locations—playing at parks, in front of restaurants, outside of bus stops, scouting for the perfect place until finally, he’d found it: a street corner located conveniently between Goshiki’s university and his favorite café, the surrounding trees providing a suitable cover from both the occasional drizzle and the oppressive heat of the summer sun.

It’s the absolute ideal setting for performing- except this morning, _someone else is already there_.

Someone with messy orange hair, tufts sticking out haphazardly beneath their beanie. Someone so short, Goshiki initially panics that he’s been upstaged by a middle-schooler. Someone whose eyes flutter shut, cheeks hollowing as they jab their fingers down on the valves of their trumpet. Someone whose lips curve into a smile around their mouthpiece and knees jump in time with the upbeat music they’re playing.

Someone who’s assaulting poor, unsuspecting passerbies with the offensive noise known as jazz.

He's only ever heard jazz from CDs his mom plays when she cleans the house and old black and white American movies Semi tries to make the team watch - it's not exactly sophisticated. Definitely not worthy of _stealing his spot_.

With a huff, Goshiki kneels down and pulls his case from off his back. He sets the case down on the ground with extreme care, placing his coffee down beside it as he shoots the trumpeter another pointed look of distaste. Goshiki relaxes his posture first and he shifts his fingers into position, propping the violin’s broader end against his collarbone before inhaling sharply and gliding his bow across the thick strings. 

This, at least, is familiar territory. Or, well, it _should_ be—but he can’t seem to tune the other boy out. He hears the trumpet as if it were pressed up against the shell of his ear, its buzz irritable and insistent like that of bee (with effort, he restrains himself from slapping a hand over his ear to squash the bug that isn’t actually there). Goshiki’s violin screeches in protest when he misses a note and then another. His eyes wander, distracted by the other boy’s restless energy and the boisterous noise of his trumpet. Goshiki can’t just tune him out, can’t ignore him when the trumpeter refuses to _stand still_.

He watches out the corner of his eye as the other boy paces in a circle, hips swaying, head bobbing, heels clicking against the sidewalk - moving closer and closer into the space Goshiki's purposely set between them. Their shoulders brush and Goshiki nearly loses his mind. In a near fit, Goshiki's bow screeches to a halt, his lips scrunching in a tight frown when trumpeter goes on playing as if nothing happened.

A small group of people gather around the other musician, clapping, their hands, some shyly stepping forward to give the trumpeter money—money that would have gone to _Goshiki_ if his music was even audible over the obnoxious blare of the trumpet.

Half way through his set, Goshiki’s patience is in tatters. He's only made a fraction of what he usually makes on his worst days, and he's confident that if things continue like this, he's going to lose his hearing in his right ear. Even when the other musician takes a break between songs, Goshiki can still the buzz reverberating against his ear.

 _This is my corner_ , Goshiki thinks. _And I'm not going to let him take it from me._

Sheer pride propels him forward, his face set in determination as he adjusts his shoulder straps and strides over to the trumpet player.

“Excuse me.” Goshiki waits, thick brows pulling together, arms folding over his chest. “I said, _excuse me._ ”

The other boy glances up at him with wide eyes, the buzz of his trumpet waning out before he pulls off from the mouthpiece.

“Oh, hey!” The trumpeter’s face splits in a pleasant grin as he as notes the violin case Goshiki’s carrying. “I’ve never met another street performer before! Gwaa, so exciting! I’m Hinata, by the way.”

Hinata holds out his hand. Goshiki hesitantly shakes it. Taken off guard, he blurts, “Goshiki. Tsutomu Goshiki.”

“Nice to meet you. I like your bow tie!” Hinata says, eyes dropping to the purple bow tie Goshiki's wearing as he lets go of Goshiki's hand. "So you play violin, huh? That song you were playing just now…what was it?”

"Bach’s Chaconne," Goshiki tells Hinata, his eyes narrowed.

"Ohh! Cool!" Hinata crows. A smile lights his face as he rocks forward on the heels of his feet. Hinata, Goshiki notes, is one of those people who talk with their hands and occasionally substitute vague noises for words. It’s something Goshiki does sometimes too, when he’s all fired up, but his senpai Shirabu usually teases him for it. Hinata goes on, "I've never heard of it before--" (No surprise there. Goshiki fights against the urge to roll his eyes) "--but it sounds pretty."

Goshiki scoffs. What's this guy’s _angle_?

“I have a few friends who are into classical, but I’ve always wondered, like, where’s the passion? Y’know?”

No, Goshiki _doesn’t know_. He puffs his bangs out of his face, bristling as the trumpeter gushes, “with jazz there’s just so much life, so much _improvisation_. Which is what I love about it! You can just go with the flow—go where the music takes you.” Hinata’s expression turns wistful as he gives a loud toot on his trumpet.

 _Going with the flow_. Goshiki’s turns redder and redder by the second, figurative smoke puffing from his ears as he scrunches his nose. How could someone who just mashes their fingers against the valves at random even call themselves a musician?

Goshiki gives into the frustration that’s been festering since he’d first gotten to his corner. He grips his bow almost tightly enough to break it and utters, “Permit?”

Oh god, his senpais like to tease Ushijima about not having any tact—if they were here now—

“Eh?’ Hinata blinks innocently at him.

Goshiki cringes at his own awkwardness and tries again. “Permit,” he forces out as he straightens his posture. “Do you have one?”

He feels the slightest twinge of guilt at his own pettiness when Hinata swallows audibly and shakes his head. “Uhm, no…?.”

“Yeah, well you need a permit to play here,” Goshiki informs him, his chin jutting out in defiance. 

“But I—”

“It’s against the law to play without one.” He keeps his tone matter-of-fact, just barely reining in his annoyance.

“Oh,” Hinata breathes. His shoulders deflate as he slumps back against the brick wall. “Shit, I had no idea.” He waves at the crowd that’s now starting to scatter, then takes his time dissembling his trumpet, carefully placing it back in its case. “I’m sorta new to this.”

Goshiki nods. He’d guessed as much. “A total rookie mistake,” he hums in agreement.

“Wait a minute.” Hinata’s case clicks shut. He slings it over his shoulder and his expression turns hopeful as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “But I can come back once I get my paperwork done, right?”

“I guess,” Goshiki says, brushing the other boy off with a shrug.

Hinata’s face lights up again. “Alright,” he mutters to himself. He starts to pace in a circle, still uncomfortably close. Hinata slams his fist down on his open palm and declares, “That’s what I’m gonna to do, then! I’m gonna get my permit! And then I’ll get back on track to becoming Japan’s greatest busker!”

At this, Goshiki scowls. “You don’t even have a permit yet. Besides, you can’t be Japan’s greatest busker if _I’m_ already going to be Japan’s greatest busker,” he argues, his brow twitching. The sooner he loses this trumpeter, the better.

“Ohhh?” Hinata’s practically _vibrating_ with energy; his eyes gleam like embers set ablaze as he curls his hands into fists and declares, “We’ll see about that, Tsutomu Goshiki! May the best busker win.” He glances down at his watch, then looks back over at Goshiki in apology. “Aw crap, I’ve gotta head out now but thank you for your advice!” Hinata takes a deep, exaggerated bow. “It was great meeting you, Goshiki! You’ll be seeing me again soon, I promise!”

“I—okay.” _Is this guy for real?_ Goshiki wonders as Hinata waves cheerily and bounds down the street towards the train station. Goshiki blinks hard and frowns, refocusing his attention to his violin. So maybe he didn’t exactly solve the issue, but at least he can be sure he won’t see Hinata for another few weeks or so.

 _And maybe,_ Goshiki considers as he draws his bow across the strings of his violin, _**just maybe,** I’ll get lucky, and the trumpeter will pick somewhere else to play, somewhere far, far away from my general vicinity._

~*~

Goshiki figures his hopes of losing the trumpeter have been even more futile than Tendou’s attempts at getting Ushijima to read Shonen Jump when he arrives the next day at his usual street corner and finds Hinata already sitting there crossed-legged, a notebook open on his lap and his trumpet suspiciously absent.

“…Hinata?”

Hinata makes a muffled noise of acknowledgement through the mouthpiece he’s holding to his lips as he flails. He grins and tugs out the mouthpiece before panting, “Goshiki! Hey!”

“Hey,” Goshiki repeats warily. He squints down at Hinata. “I thought you had to get your permit?”

“Oh, I am, I mean _I do!_ ” Hinata says, voice still a little breathy. “But I thought about it all last night and I decided that in the _meantime_ , it would be a complete waste if I didn’t use this as an opportunity to grow as musician. So I’m practicing my embouchure, and also holding my breath.” He makes a face. “My bandmates tell me I’m not so good with the technical stuff.”

At a loss, Goshiki demands, “But why are you _here?_ ” The other boy could easily practice something so trivial in the comfort of his own home.

Hinata smiles tentatively and flips to an empty page in his notebook. “Because I want to learn from you, Goshiki-senpai! You said it yesterday - I’m still just a rookie, for now. But! You’re experienced! You could _teach_ me,” he finishes with a self-satisfied smile.

 _Goshiki-senpai_. Goshiki’s whole body turns a bright shade of pink as the words repeat themselves over and over in his head like the snare part of Bolero. _Goshiki-senpai_. It has a certain ring to it, he preens. Goshiki clears his throat and attempts to half-heartedly wave away Hinata’s praise. “Oh, I don’t know if I’d—”

_Goshiki-senpai._

“How long have you been doing this for?” Hinata presses.

“Two years,” Goshiki states proudly. He props his hands on his hips. “But I’ve been playing violin for twelve years now. I actually go to Shiratorizawa, a school near here. Maybe you’ve heard of it?”

It’s more than a little gratifying the way Hinata squeaks, his mouth falling open as he stares. “Shiratorizawa as in _Miyagi’s famous music academy,_ Shiratorizawa?”

Goshiki juts out his chin, a smug smile gracing his lips. “The very one.” While it’s true that he hasn’t been named Concertmaster yet (that title currently belongs to his senpai, Ushijima Wakatoshi), he’s still only in his first year, and it’s a position he’s vowed to earn through hard work and dedication.

“Wow,” Hinata says, eyes shining. “You must be incredible!”

Goshiki makes a strangled noise. His flush deepens as he clutches at his violin case.

“So you’ll teach me, then?” 

“I—” Goshiki flips his long bangs back with two fingers as he mulls it over. On one hand, this kid was angling to steal his corner yesterday, but on the other hand, _Goshiki-senpai._ Ignoring the nagging feeling that he’ll likely regret it, Goshiki grins indulgently and answers, “What do you want to know?”

~*~

He’s already lost nearly an hour of his set by the time Hinata’s taken a break from barraging him with questions, but Goshiki finds that he doesn’t actually mind too much. Even though Hinata’s presence is a nuisance, he’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel a certain thrill at the way Hinata hangs on his every word, dutifully recording every token of advice Goshiki offers.

When he does start playing, he catches himself sneaking looks at Hinata, trying to gauge the other boy’s reaction. Throughout middle school and high school, Goshiki was fawned over as a music prodigy - but now, as a single violinist in one of Japan’s most elite music schools, he can hardly get his instructors to give him the time of day, and his upperclassmen are near impossible to read. Under Hinata’s attention, Goshiki’s cheeks turn red and his pulse spikes as goosebumps prickle his skin.

“And _another_ thing,” Goshiki says during his self-appointed break between songs. He coughs, clearing his throat. “You have to dress for the part.” To himself, Goshiki begrudgingly admits that Hinata looks sort of _cute_ in his faded yellow hoodie and cargo shorts, but it’s much too casual.

Hinata frowns and looks down at himself. “Eh? What’s wrong with what I’m already wearing?”

Goshiki sighs. “If you look like a beggar, they’ll ignore you.” He gestures to his own grey blazer and dark skinny jeans. “The trick is to look like you’re doing well for yourself, but not so well. The same goes for the money in your case.”

“I don’t get it,” Hinata admits. But he jots it down in his notebook anyway.

Goshiki props his bow against his bent knees as he kneels down farther and picks up a handful of coins. “They see too many coins, and they’ll think you don’t need their donation. They don’t see enough coins, they’ll assume you suck.” It’s been a profitable day so far. Goshiki pockets some of his coins. “Do you see?”

Hinata cocks his head to the side. “I think so.” It’s then that a growl erupts from Hinata’s stomach. Hinata winces. “Oh no.”

“You should always bring snacks with you,” Goshiki chides.

“Ah, you’re _right_ , my mistake,” Hinata agrees easily, writing down the advice, “and this is why you’re the expert! I’ll remember to bring food next time!”

_Next time._

“What’s your favorite food?” Hinata asks.

Goshiki thinks about it for a moment. “Boiled flounder, but you—” _don’t have to write that down._

Hinata nods and makes note of it anyway. His stomach grumbles a second time. “Aw man, well, I guess I was going to head out soon anyway.” He grins, broad and wide - so bright it’s nearly blinding. “Thank you for your help!”

As Hinata closes his notebook and stands up again, Goshiki tries and fails to reason away his disappointment. He should be happy Hinata’s finally leaving - it’s not like he needs the company or anything.

Belatedly, Goshiki nods. “Y-yeah, you’re welcome.”

Hinata’s started to walk away, his mouthpiece stuffed in his pocket, his other hand rubbing the back of his neck when he turns and looks over his shoulder. “Oh, and Goshiki?”

“Mmm?”

“I’m not going to lose to you,” Hinata tells him.

He leaves Goshiki standing there, baffled and speechless. When Goshiki finally recovers, he makes a noise of indignation and yells out to Hinata’s fading silhouette, “Yeah well—we’ll just see about that!”

~*~

True to his word, Hinata shows up on most of the days when Goshiki’s performing. It’s not exactly that Goshiki’s gotten _used_ to his company—Hinata’s still active as ever, drumming his pen in his lap, tapping his feet to the beat, pursing his lips in an exaggerated pout as he hums along to whatever song Goshiki’s playing—but it’s not nearly as much of a bother anymore, either.

“Is there, um.” Goshiki squirms under the heat of Hinata’s gaze. He tilts his head up, his posture stiff as he fidgets. “Is there anything in particular you’d like to hear?”

Goshiki’s never taken requests before. He has a set list that he’s planned down to the minute - and he tweaks it occasionally to keep from getting bored and to incorporate the songs he’s learning in class, but he doesn’t go off-script. Ever. And yet here is, clumsily trying to impress someone who accused classical music of lacking _heart._

Hinata hums at the question. He leans back against the wall and steeples his hands beneath his chin, a teasing smile forming on his face as he lists off a couple dozen options. Goshiki realizes with horror that he recognizes none of them. 

“I actually don’t…” Goshiki turns his head to the side, face turning red as he tries to shake off the irrational embarrassment he suddenly feels at not being better acquainted with a genre best-suited for elevator music. “I don’t like jazz. Sorry.”

Hinata deflates and makes a face, as though Goshiki’s just told him he doesn’t like puppies or sweets or fun (all of which Goshiki _is_ , in fact, fond of). “How can you _not_ like jazz?”

Jazz the exact opposite of what Goshiki enjoys in music: it’s noisy and chaotic and disorganized. As Goshiki tries to put into words the reason jazz music is the worst, Hinata continues, “I mean if you haven’t heard “Birdland” or “A Night in Tunisia” then you haven’t even really given jazz a fair chance!” Hinata points out as he hunches his shoulders and sulks. “Wait…this is perfect! I could definitely show you some jazz music you’d be into; it would totally blow your mind—”

More than a little doubtful, Goshiki deflects, “Uh, did you have any _other_ requests?”

Hinata lists a few more - Goshiki doesn’t recognize those either.

“Aw, really? Those were contemporary, though! Don’t you ever listen to the radio?”

“No,” Goshiki admits. “Not really.” Even when he’s in his room doing homework, he usually has Tchaikovsky, Kreisler, or Mozart playing quietly from the speakers above his desk.

Hinata offers a reassuring smile. “Oh well, it’s fine; your playing’s really pretty, anyway. Oh, maybe you could play the one from the first time we met! Ca…Chaa…Cac-cone?”

“Oi, don’t butcher it. Chaconne? Bach’s Partita number 2 in D minor?”

“Yeah, that’s it!” Hinata nods vigorously. “That one! It’s my favorite one from your set. Your face gets all relaxed ‘n soft when you’re enjoying the music.” A nervous laugh bubbles up from his throat, and he reaches up to scratch at his chin. “Shit, sorry, that probably sounds stupid, huh?”

 _Who just says things like that so casually?_ Goshiki wonders, his heart throbbing in his throat. He clears his throat once, twice, before saying, “NO! I mean no, it’s not stupid at all! I’ll play that one for you!” Silently, Goshiki pleads for lightning to strike him where he stands or for the ground to open up beneath him - anything to stop him from rambling. His lips twitch in what was supposed to be a smile as he waves his bow in front of him. “Alright, here I go!”

It’s only as Goshiki eases into it, his bow gliding, across his violin, his fingers plucking at the thick strings, that it occurs to him there’s an intimacy in performing for someone else. There’s an intimacy in watching for the subtle shifts in their expression, in showing off for their benefit. This isn’t—it’s not like he’s _serenading_ Hinata or anything, he’s simply playing the song from his set that Hinata likes best, Goshiki assures himself. If anything, he’s proving his musical prowess and natural superiority.

Hinata watches every sway of Goshiki’s bow with rapt attention. Emboldened, Goshiki smiles and lets his eyes flutter closed, lets the music guide him, lets the music—haunted, gentle, lively—swell up gracefully from beneath his fingers. _I’ll show you passion_ , he thinks, face flushed in excitement when he hits every note just right. The tempo climbs, then descends again in time with the crescendo of his own heart. _Look at me, look at me, **look at me,**_ he thinks. Goshiki imagines lovers in a crowded ballroom, their palms only barely touching. He imagines them dancing slow at first, breaking apart, then pulling together, the moment between the dancers charged and tense with words unspoken as they swirl faster and faster. 

Goshiki opens his eyes again, gaze lifting to Hinata’s face - and the air is knocked from his lungs when he sees the intensity there. There’s a crowd starting to gather, trickling in from the streets, but Goshiki’s eyes don’t stray from Hinata. By the time Goshiki’s finished playing, there’s a bead of sweat gathering on his forehead and the pads are of fingers have turned a swollen shade of red.

“There, how was that?” Goshiki demands, panting a little as he grins in triumph.

“Woah!! That was—” Hinata makes an inhuman noise as he bounces up on the tips of his toes. “—that was so cool! You were like-” he whistles the tune and does a subpar but enthusiastic imitation of playing violin. When he finishes his impression, he gasps out, “ _Amazing_.”

Goshiki beams. He doesn’t tell Hinata that it took him _four years_ to learn how to play it properly and then memorize it, or that he still only knows half of the piece. “Did you—s’there anything else you’d like to hear?”

~*~

For a while, there’s peace. Everything’s going Goshiki’s way and Hinata’s presence—constant and weirdly comforting—becomes the new normal.

Goshiki should have known better than to expect it to last.

Whatever unvoiced truce that existed between them is sufficiently nipped in the bud the day he arrives at the street corner to find Hinata already there, trumpet in tow. Goshiki regrets ever suggesting Hinata dress more formally as he takes in Hinata’s thin suspenders and orange bowtie, Hinata’s white dress-shirt with sleeves rolled up just passed his lean forearms. He’s wearing khaki colored dress pants, a noticeable improvement over cargo pants and—is that a _top hat?_

“Go-shi- _ki_! You’ll never guess the good news!” Hinata holds his trumpet out in front of him. “I told you I wasn’t gonna get left behind—I got my permit! I got all my paperwork done and I can finally perform here again, like you!” When he doesn’t get an immediate response, Hinata frowns and follows Goshiki’s line of sight to the hat sitting atop of his head.

“Oh, right. That. I got some new digs over the weekend. You like?” Hinata flutters his lashes and does a twirl for Goshiki as though he’s a Disney princess. Goshiki’s chest constricts.

Voice strangled, Goshiki mutters, “They’re… _nice_.”

“Thanks! I’m just going to do some warm ups and then I’ll join you,” Hinata tells him.

“O-Okay!”

Goshiki reasons that even though they’ve been… _chummy_ lately, Hinata’s still a rival. A jazz musician. And perhaps least forgivable: he’s _a trumpet player_ , whose brassy music drowns out even the most vigorous and theatrical pieces that Goshiki plays. Without Goshiki’s consent, he finds his eyes flickering over to where Hinata’s busking only a few paces away from him.

The sight of Hinata provides another problem altogether—Goshiki stares, obvious and helpless, when Hinata’s hips start to gyrate and roll forward to the erratic tempo of his music. Hinata’s cheeks redden from exertion, lips quirking in a way that isn’t altogether unattractive. Goshiki can feel tendrils of heat spreading up along his collar, his own bowtie growing too tight as he observes the other boy, partially fascinated, and partially frustrated in every sense of the word.

Just like before, their shoulders bump - only this time, Goshiki’s hyperaware of the contact. He stiffens, his bow feeling flimsy in his hands as he tries to act unaffected, even as his violin emits a shrill sound nearly as displeasing as the noise Hinata’s trumpet makes. During one song, Hinata nearly trips over Goshiki’s open violin case. The scene is a wreck. An absolute disaster. Those passing by on the sidewalks shoot them confused, discomforted glances - and honestly, Goshiki doesn’t blame them.

His senpais would mock him if they knew how badly he’d been thrown off his game by one small, redheaded trumpeter.

Five songs into his set, Goshiki scowls and regretfully announces, “This isn’t working.”

“Mmm?”

“This,” Goshiki says, gesturing between them with his violin, “this isn’t working. We keep bumping into each other and—”

“—shit, that’s totally my bad! I’ll get better with that!” Hinata assures him.

Goshiki continues, his frown deepening “and we’re scaring away would-be customers! Trumpet and violin don’t sync well.”

“Not with _that_ attitude they don’t,” Hinata says, folding his arms over his chest.

“I’m afraid it’s come to this, you have to—”

“No.”

Goshiki’s mouth hangs open. “ _No?_ ”

This isn’t going at all like he’d thought it would when he rehearsed worse case scenarios in his head.

“No,” Hinata repeats, voice clipped. “I like playing here and I like learning from you. I don’t want to leave.”

“But—But—this is _my_ spot,” Goshiki insists. He fights against the urge to stomp his foot. “I was here first.”

_Finders’ keepers, you jerk._

Hinata arches a brow at him. “But you weren’t this morning. I took the train before yours, remember?”

Goshiki sneers, but gives up on the argument before it devolves into Hinata smugly pointing out that Goshiki hasn’t written his name on the sidewalk. “Well then…fine! I’ll just have to out-play you then!”

 _Hmph, let’s see how much you like the spot when nobody’s giving you the time of the day_.

Hinata’s crooks his fingers in challenge. “ _Bring it_ , bowl cut!”

~*~

They glare daggers at each other as they play. Every time Goshiki plays a little louder, Hinata adjusts his own volume. It’s a stupid, stupid game but Goshiki doesn’t want to _lose_. His pride can’t afford it, not when Hinata’s been soaking up the spotlight ever since he returned with his trumpet. For whatever reason (Goshiki can’t imagine why), people seem _like_ Hinata’s quirky dance moves and his joyful playing and the way he flashes bright, guileless when they drop coins into his case.

Even though they rarely speak, Goshiki feels the two of them falling into a rhythm. A full week passes without Hinata colliding into him or without Goshiki feeling hyperconscious of Hinata’s movements. In a way, it’s like they’ve adapted to circle each other like two planets in orbit, their paths safe from converging. It’s a relief, really. Hinata and Goshiki do their thing and Goshiki tells himself that he doesn’t miss Hinata’s attention at all. 

~*~

It’s a chilly day in the fall, the cold wind nipping at Goshiki’s cheeks, when Hinata shows up a minute after him with two coffees in hand.

 _Who buys themselves two coffees?_ Goshiki wonders bitterly. Steam wafts out from the lid of both cups.

“Here, for you.” Inexplicably, Hinata crouches and holds one of the coffees out to him. “I wasn’t sure what you’d like so I ordered the first thing on the menu. Hopefully that’s okay?”

Goshiki doesn’t reach for it. Instead, he tilts his head up and narrows his eyes at the coffee. Hinata doesn’t seem like the type who would try to poison him, and yet—“What is this?”

“A macchiato,” Hinata answers simply. When Goshiki only glares harder, Hinata sighs and plops down next to him. “An attempt at bonding?”

“What—but that’s—we can’t bond! We’re rivals. Rivals _don’t bond_.”

There have been occasions, brief instances in which Goshiki’s bonded with Ushijima, but that’s different. They’re in an orchestra together. Hinata and Goshiki are in a turf war.

“We can so!” Hinata argues. “We can still be friends! If you wanted, I mean. Someone once said that a rival isn’t an enemy, but someone who drives you and challenges you to be your very best!”

Goshiki blinks. Is that really how Hinata feels about him? “Oh. That’s actually…kind of wise.”

“Eh?! Is it?” Hinata laughs and rubs at the back of his own neck. “Heh, I read it on the back of one of my bandmate’s t-shirts.” He peers over Goshiki’s shoulder, his eyes falling on the booklet from class splayed open on Goshiki’s lap. “Gwah, I honestly don’t how you do it. It looks super tough learning that many notes on a page!”

Goshiki shrugs, a flush coloring his cheeks at the feeling of Hinata’s weight suddenly pressed against his side. “It’s not—I keep my sheet music with me to remember the notes.”

“Still!” Hinata huffs. “It’s like, really impressive! I actually don’t know how to read the notes, like, at all.”

“Seriously?” Goshiki’s lips curve into a smirk as he takes a sip of coffee. _Heh, I’m better than him at this_. It’s a little petty, sure, but it feels good to have this one thing over the other boy. A victory is a victory, after all.

Hinata blushes. “ _Seriously._ I tried asking my bandmate, Tsukki, to teach me how to read sheet music but he’s just so grumpy! He kept teasing me instead and eventually he stopped giving me lessons altogether.”

“Then how do you even play?”

“I play it by ear, I guess? Some melodies I know well enough that I could play them in my sleep—” Hinata laughs and hums ‘Twinkle Twinkle Little Star” in demonstration— “but with others, I’m mostly experimenting. I’ll fiddle with the melody and pitch until it sounds good, and from there, I’ll go where it takes me.”

Goshiki marvels at this. “So you _are_ just pressing down valves at random, then.”

“Oi! That’s not _at all_ what I’m saying. Have you ever played a song by ear?”

“I—I could! If I wanted to.”

Ignoring this, Hinata continues, “It’s trickier than you’d think. You have to listen to the melody over and over again and really hear the sound in your mind until it becomes something unconscious. You have to parse out how to produce the rhythm and pitch - but once you’ve discovered that, it’s as easy as breathing. You’re free to mess with the scale and think outside of the box—it’s then that you get to create something that’s uniquely yours. But it’s gotta be natural. It’s gotta come from the heart.”

Goshiki takes a long sip of his macchiato and grumbles, “That still sounds like a bunch of—”

“You know, I’ve heard most of the songs from your set several times. How about a bet?”

“A bet? What kind?” Goshiki asks eagerly. 

Hinata grins. “If I can play something from your set back to you, then you’ve gotta at least give jazz music a _chance_!”

Goshiki makes a face like he’s just licked a lemon. “And if you can’t?” Almost everything in his set’s too technical and nuanced to transition well to trumpet - there’s no way Hinata could play it.

“Then I’ll find a different corner to play at,” Hinata promises, arching both brows.

Goshiki’s stomach drops. That’s not—does he even _want_ that anymore? Hinata must see the conflict playing out on Goshiki’s face, because he looks over, gaze imploring and asks, “Uh, unless there’s something else you’d want?”

What else could he possibly want from his rival? _A date_ , Goshiki’s traitorous mind supplies, _or a kiss_. But it’s not like he can ask for either of those things aloud – that’d be far too humiliating. So instead Goshiki plasters on a smile, shakes his head and says, “No, I’m in! Let’s see if you can keep up!”

Goshiki sets his coffee down beside him and selects the easiest song from his set: “Fanfare Minuet” by Duncombe. It’s the song he usually plays during warm ups, and the one Hinata’s probably heard the most.

“Okay, I think I got it!” Hinata says, flashing him another smile as he grins around the mouthpiece and plays the rhythm back to Goshiki. The first few notes are off; he plays them at a register higher than Goshiki had. “Hm, nope, not yet. Can I hear it again?”

Goshiki nods and obliges him, his hands unsteady on his bow as he listens to Hinata take a deep breath, then try again. Hinata’s second attempt is much closer. By the third time repeating the same basic melody, it seems like Hinata’s almost got it down.

“Ah!” Hinata pumps his fist in triumph. “I told you I could do it!”

Goshiki smiles back and breathes a quiet sigh of relief. “Not bad, but I still think it’d be better to just use the sheet music.”

“Hold, hold on. I haven’t even showed you the _fun_ part yet. Listen.” Hinata plays the melody again - only this time, he adds his own notes. And soon enough he’s changed the feel of the arrangement from classical to swing, even though he’s left the rhythm intact. He then tests how long he can hold a note for, the trumpet wailing as he taps his foot against the sidewalk.

It’s the first time Goshiki’s’s really paid attention to Hinata’s playing, the first time he’s noticed the lively cadence to Hinata’s music and the unabashed joy that shines through every note. Goshiki watches, heart beating too fast when Hinata winks at him and switches the tempo again, Hinata’s eyes meeting Goshiki’s as the brassy sounds come out smooth and sultry.

“You were right,” Goshiki says when Hinata stops playing. He bites back a smile as he pushes the horn out of his face. “That was actually pretty amazing.”

Hinata leans closer and cups a hand against the shell of his own. “I’m sorry, what was that? I couldn’t hear you.”

Goshiki smirks. “Maybe you wouldn’t be having hearing problems if you didn’t play your music so loud.”

“Maybe. But I could’ve _sworn_ you just admitted you were wrong about something,” Hinata teases as he combs his fingers through his orange hair. “So, does this mean you’re finally going to let give you a proper jazz education?”

“I suppose so,” Goshiki says, his flush deepening when Hinata bumps their shoulders together. “I guess I _have_ been a bit of a—”

“—dick?” Hinata helpfully supplies. Amusement dances in his eyes as Goshiki makes a startled noise.

“I was going to say _snob_ , actually.”

“Both work,” Hinata agrees. Goshiki thinks he can see the slightest bit of color tinting Hinata’s cheeks when Hinata peeks up at him and watches Goshiki closely before saying, “You know, you didn’t have to go easy on me.”

Goshiki’s eyes widen in surprise at being caught. “I—what? I didn’t! Why would I go easy on you? That wouldn’t even make sense.”

“See, I don’t think so either. Either you have zero faith in my playing abilities, which had better not be the case, or you actually like having me around, so much so that you rigged it.” Hinata’s expression turns tentatively hopeful. “Sweet, but totally unnecessary.”

Goshiki scoffs and forces a laugh, his eyes fixed on the street in front of them. “Pfft, as if I’d _willingly_ lose to you. That’s ridiculous. Preposterous. _Absurd_.”

“Whatever you say,” Hinata replies, “but I think you’d miss me and my ‘disorganized’ jazz playing.”

This time, Goshiki doesn’t even bother denying it. Instead, he lifts his coffee to his lips and scowls, his stomach twisting into knots when his other hand brushes against Hinata’s.

~*~

Goshiki isn’t having a gay crisis. He _isn’t_. He’s known he wasn’t exactly straight since his first year of high school, so that’s not what this is.

Goshiki’s having a _Hinata_ crisis.

Unsure of how to handle it, he turns to one of his upperclassmen for advice.

“Tsutomu, my boy, what’s eatin’ at you?” Tendou asks, grinning as he ruffles Goshiki’s short hair. His other upperclassmen eye them wearily, as though they’re waiting for Goshiki to signal that he needs immediate rescue from Tendou.

Goshiki smiles at them in reassurance before turning his attention back to Tendou. Under Tendou’s expectant gaze he fidgets and taps the pads of his forefingers together. “So there’s this trumpeter, and…”

Goshiki tells Tendou about Hinata stealing his sacred busking spot, about Hinata’s time spent observing him, about Hinata’s easy smile and airy laugh, about Hinata’s headstrong determination to surpass him, and about the queasy feeling Goshiki gets whenever he’s around.

Tendou doesn’t interject; instead he listens without comment, brows shooting up into his hairline and his face contorting whenever Goshiki says something that amuses him. “…and now I don’t know how to feel or what to do about it,” Goshiki concludes.

Now that Goshiki’s confirmed he’s done rambling, Tendou lets out a loud, bellowing laugh.

“Oh, man, sounds like quite the lil’ twerp you’ve set your sights on!” Tendou sighs and rubs the moisture from his eyes. “That’s definitely a _crush_ ya got there, kiddo.”

Goshiki nods grimly. He’d feared as much. “But what do I do about it?” Goshiki presses.

“You’re really going to Tendou for romantic advice?” asks Semi, who makes no effort in trying to pretend he wasn’t eavesdropping on them.

“Of course he’d come to me about this! Who else would he ask but the wonderful, devastatingly cool Tendou Satori? Don’t worry, Tsutomu! I won’t lead you astray. After all—,” Tendou tugs Goshiki closer and gestures outside the classroom, where Ushijima is leaning over the water fountain—“I snagged _that_ handsome devil, didn’t I?”

“If anyone here’s the devil,” Semi says, not looking up from his cello, “it’s _you_.”

Shirabu snickers.

“Oi, hey now, Semi-Semi, don’t be bitter just ‘cause you don’t have my smooth moves! Not everyone can be so gifted with a great personality and charming good looks. It’s just the way life goes,” Tendou says, eyes glinting when Semi glares in response.

Goshiki clears his throat. “Ah, Tendou-senpai? About my problem?”

Tendou smiles in apology. “Right, yeah, sorry! Just do what I did with Ushiwaka!”

“Alright!” Goshiki grins and pumps his fist in the air. A moment later, his smile falls. “Which was…what?”

“I told him how I felt—”

Semi cuts in, “After _years_ of blatant flirting.”

Tendou rolls his eyes. “With some people it just takes more time. If you’re not ready to confess, show him you have feelings through a sincere gesture and see how he reacts.”

“That’s shockingly insightful,” Shirabu says.

‘What can I tell ya? I’m wise beyond my years.”

“Isn’t it weird though?” Goshiki whispers. “I mean, Hinata’s my rival. How can I have feelings for him?”

“People get all hot n’ bothered over their rivals all the time. I mean, just look at those two,” Tendou replies, smirking pointedly in Shirabu and Semi’s direction.

Shirabu and Semi exchange an awkward glance, both of them blushing hard as they turn back to Tendou again.

“That’s _not_ —”

Semi grits, “You little—”

“Ah, ah, ah.” Tendou wags a finger at them as he jumps up on one of the nearby desks, his legs swinging forward as he smiles crookedly. “Methinks thou dost protest too much~” he sings.

It’s a good thing Ushijima chooses then to jog back into the music room, because Shirabu and Semi are both still bristling. “Everyone ready to go for rehearsal?”

He receives several nods in answer.

“Yeah, just a moment,” Tendou replies. His attention returns to Goshiki. Tone sincere, he asks, “You need anything else, kid?”

Goshiki shakes his head. There’s already a plan slowly starting to come together in the back of his mind. “I think I’ll be okay.”

“Glad to hear it,” Tendou says and winks. “Ganbatte! Do me proud out there, yeah?”

Goshiki’s posture straightens as he salutes his upperclassmen. “Yessir!”

All he has to do is show Hinata he cares. That shouldn’t be difficult, right?

~*~

Goshiki doesn’t do anything drastic.

After agonizing about it all night, Goshiki settles on a plan that’s more subtle that anything Tendou would have probably approved of, but at least this provides plausible deniability—Goshiki waits for Hinata’s stomach to growl again before digging through his own bag and thrusting a carefully-wrapped bento at Hinata’s chest.

Hinata blinks at it for a moment in surprise, his fingers plucking experimentally at the orange handkerchief before asking, “What’s this?”

“A bento,” Goshiki answers after a long moment. 

“A bento,” Hinata repeats. He stares as if there’s still a vital piece of information that he’s missing. “And you brought this…for _me_?”

It’s an innocuous question, and one that Goshiki should have been prepared for, and yet Goshiki’s mouth flaps open, no words coming out as he debates just grabbing his violin and running away as fast as his legs can take him.

Hinata’s brows start ascending his forehead in increments - and it’s only then that Goshiki realizes he didn’t actually answer. “ _No_! I mean, yes!” He coughs. “I mean—I just thought it’d be a nice gesture.”

“Alright, no take-backs, though! I’m starved.” Hinata’s grins and tears past the orange handkerchief. “…Oh.” 

Shoulders shaking, Hinata looks down at the bagel then up at Goshiki, then down at the bagel again. 

Goshiki bites at the inside of his cheek. “I uh, I can’t cook! But I thought…”

Hinata’s lips quiver and his cheeks puff out until he can’t seem to hold in his laughter any longer. It comes out in wheezes and tears track down his face. 

Was this…a rejection? Goshiki pales. His only experience with rejection is the time he hadn’t secured the position of Concertmaster over Ushijima Wakatoshi - but the derisive bursts of laughter spouting from Hinata’s lips aren’t exactly encouraging.

“Oh my god,” Hinata pants. “I’m not, oh god, I’m not laughing at you, I swear. It’s just—I play a _mouth instrument_ , and this has cream cheese. I literally can’t eat this.”

Oh, right. Oh god. How could Goshiki have forgotten something so obvious?

“Hey, hey, it’s okay! I appreciate it anyway,” Hinata says with a smile. “I remembered to bring my own lunch this time. My sister Natsu made it for me - I can’t actually cook anything more advanced than noodles. Maybe we could share?” Hinata digs through his backpack, murmurs ‘aha!’ when he finds the container. “Here.” He shows Goshiki the meal his sister’s prepared: rice topped with egg, and tempura vegetables on the side.

“Okay, yeah, that’s definitely better than what I brought myself!”

Hinata laughs and passes him a pair of chopsticks. “Here, you’re lucky I happen to have a second pair with me.”

“Yeah.” Goshiki’s ears burn at the prospect of Hinata feeding him. “Lucky me.”

As they eat together, Hinata carries most of the conversation. Goshiki makes the occasional hmm or wow to show he’s listening as Hinata tells the story of how he’d found his trumpet at the local pawn shop.

“It was like fate, y’know!” Hinata says, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “I walked past a store selling TVs, and playing on one of the screens was an old recording of this Canadian jazz player, Maynard Ferguson. He was all like do--do--do-do-do—do---DO—DO—do--do-- _do-do-do_ —” Hinata brings his trumpet to his mouth and plays the melody before continuing, “It was freakin’ _incredible_. He had this crazy high register, and when he’d get really into it, he’d full out wail. The crowd was going wild for it! I just knew then that I wanted to play music like that – music that makes people happy.”

Goshiki can’t tear his eyes from the wistful look on Hinata’s face.

“And then, a week later, I came across this trumpet for sale,” Hinata concludes with a sigh. “Oh! That reminds me.” He sets his trumpet aside again to rummage through his bag again. After a moment or two, he smiles and presents Goshiki with a CD. “Ta-da! You remember our bet, right?”

“Goshiki’s Super Awesome Jazz Mix,” Goshiki reads aloud, his lips twitching in a smile.

“It’s only the greatest of the greats on there! Hinata’s cheeks are tinted red as he tells Goshiki, “I spent, like, hours scouring through my collection to find some stuff I thought you might like. There’s even some incredibly dynamic jazz violin on it because I figured maybe—” he seems to notice he’s rambling because he stops himself and shakes his head. “I’ll let the music speak for itself. But call me after you listen to it? My number’s written on the back, under the track list.”

“I will,” Goshiki assures him as Goshiki turns the CD over in his hands. His heart hammers harder than the pound of kick drum when he sees the number scrawled there in sharpie.

Okay, so he still hasn’t confessed yet. But - a _phone number_. That’s progress, right?

~*~

Goshiki waits until after he’s finished his homework to listen to the mix CD. He finds it buried at the bottom of his messenger bag, sandwiched in between two theory textbooks. Frowning slightly, he tugs his headphones from his ears and replaces the Bach album he’d been listening to with Hinata’s mix.

Hesitant, Goshiki looks over the track list again. Whatever “Birdland” is, it’s written on the track list twice. Some of the tracks he recalls Hinata referring to as the ‘heart’ of jazz, and he recognizes a couple of the artists as the musicians Hinata speaks of with the same reverence that Goshiki does when discussing the works of Bach, Paganini or Mozart.

Goshiki’s not overly optimistic, but he thinks maybe he’ll find one or two tracks that’ll pique his interest enough that he’ll be able to hold a conversation about them with Hinata. 

“Alright, let’s do this.” Goshiki exhales and steeples his hands beneath his chin as he reclines in his chair.

Goshiki listens to the entire thing in completion. His eyes fall shut during the love songs like Louis Armstrong’s “La Vie en Rose” and Madeleine Peyroux’s “Dance Me to the End of Love.” His cheeks flush when he pictures Hinata playing something so slow and romantic.

By the time “Sing Sing Sing” plays, he’s groaning and pulling at his short hair. He turns beat red as he pictures Hinata shimmying to the piece’s wild, gaudy rhythm. “Aw, c’mon Goshiki, loosen up!” he imagines Hinata saying, the other boy’s hands wiggling on Goshiki’s hips as the imagined Hinata wags his brows and flashes Goshiki one of his blinding smiles.

When the whole mix’s finished playing, Goshiki takes a moment to collect himself - and then, he calls Hinata. 

“So, how was it? Did you like it? Which one did you like most?” Hinata asks before Goshiki’s given a chance to greet him. “Was it Django Reinhardt? I totally fell in love with his stuff during my last year of high school.”

Goshiki snickers. He waits until Hinata’s finished gushing to inform him that, “‘Birdland’ was too busy for my taste.”

There’s a long stretch silence on Hinata’s end.

“H-Hinata?”

“Guh, how can you not—? Sorry, m’still processing,” Hinata grumbles. “I can’t believe this. Maynard Ferguson is my hero! The one who got me into jazz!”

“Only a week ago you called Mozart’s pieces boring and yawn-worthy,” Goshiki points out.

“Because they are,” Hinata replies. “Okay, fine, moving on. What else?”

With a smile, Goshiki relents, “You were right about Django Reinhardt. I think I’m a little in love, too.”

Hinata laughs in delight. “I knew it!”

Goshiki goes into full detail about what he’d thought about reach of the jazz violinists on the mix – critiquing their style, technique, and expression – while Hinata listens avidly, the other boy occasionally voicing his own opinion. Goshiki’s resolutely doesn’t mention how, earlier, he’d imagined Hinata straddling his lap, lips mouthing down along Goshiki’s neck, hips grinding forward to the slow, sensuous tempo of “Feeling Good.”

It’s a blessing that at least Hinata’s not there to see the bright red tinting Goshiki’s ears and cheeks.

“You know, a week from now, my band’s gonna be performing at this really neat all ages club downtown. I guess that means you’ll have your special corner to yourself that day.”

Goshiki frowns. “Our corner.”

“Right, you’ll have our corner to yourself,” Hinata rectifies. Goshiki can easily picture the cheeky smile Hinata’d be giving him if they were talking face-to-face. “Or. Orrrr, you come to my band’s performance! As my plus one! We’re really good, I swear! Tsukki keeps telling me I’m biased but whatever, it’s true – we are.”

“I’ll come,” Goshiki answers instantly.

“Oh,” Hinata responds, voice hitching. “Wait, really? You’ll come?” Hinata shrieks loud enough that Goshiki has to clap a hand over his phone to muffle the sound. “This is gonna be so great.”

Goshiki reasons with a wince, “It could be fun.”

“And here I didn’t think you knew the meaning of the word,” Hinata says, snickering. “Amazing what a little jazz’ll do for you. There may be hope for you after all.”

“Oi, I was plenty fun before ever listening to jazz,” Goshiki protests as he folds his arms and sulks..

“Sure you were. Okay, I’ve gotta go study for my midterm now, but I’ll see you tomorrow! G’night, Tsutomu.”

Tsutomu.

Goshiki’s head nearly implodes.

“G-G’night Shouyou,” Goshiki replies. When he looks down he finds that Hinata’s already hung up.

It’s only an hour later, when Goshiki’s listening through the jazz violin solos for the fourth time, that he realizes Hinata sort of asked him out, and that he’d sort of accepted.

~*~

In the following days leading up to the concert, Hinata doesn’t bring up the maybe-date-invitation. He does, however, continue to bring Goshiki a new mix CD every time he shows up at the corner.

“This one’s _all_ jazz violin. The first half’s Stephane Grappelli and the second half’s your favorite - Naoko Terai,” Hinata gushes on their train ride back home as Goshiki turns his newest CD over in his hands.

Goshiki makes a face. “I didn’t say she was my favorite, I just said I admired that she’s been playing since she was four.”

Hinata makes a noise of acknowledgement. He’s got his cheek pressed against Goshiki’s shoulder, his full weight draped against Goshiki’s side as he toys with the straps of Goshiki’s violin case. “Y’know, I’ve actually been thinking – I’ve been sharing my music with you a lot lately, but I haven’t listened to any of _yours._ ”

“I didn’t think you’d be interested,” Goshiki says, blinking in surprise.

Hinata gives a partial shrug, his lips upturning in a sleepy smile as he waggles his brows at Goshiki. “Heh, I guess you could say your playing’s really _struck a chord_ with me.”

Goshiki snorts. “Oh my god.” He can feel the tremor of Hinata’s quiet snickers. “That was… _awful_.”

Hinata laughs softly and murmurs against the crook of Goshiki’s neck, “Mm, you liked it, though.”

“Did _not_ ,” Goshiki mutters as he scooches closer and leans back against Hinata, like a plant straining for sunlight. Hinata doesn’t dignify him with a response. Soon, they settle into a comfortable silence. Goshiki listens to the quiet tide of Hinata’s breathing until it evens out. When he’s certain Hinata’s drifted asleep, he dips his hand into his own pocket to fetch his iPod, taking care not to jostle Hinata with his movements.

Five minutes or so into listening to Bach, an idea occurs to him.

Hadn’t Hinata said he was interested in classical music? The gears are already turning in Goshiki’s head as he mentally sifts through his whole collection – would Hinata like wind ensemble music, perhaps? Did Tendou have any electronic orchestra music recommendations Goshiki could impress Hinata with?

“Pstt, Shouyou.” Goshiki pokes at Hinata’s shoulder. “Shouyou?”

Hinata grumbles and nuzzles his face against Goshiki’s neck, drawing a shiver from Goshiki. “Mm, whaddayawant?”

Goshiki’s train of thought promptly swerves off track, crashes, combusts.

“I…”

“Hmm?” Hinata’s eyes slowly blink open. He yawns, stretches, and then stares expectantly. “Tsutomu?”

“Right, sorry.” Goshiki shakes himself from his daze. He tugs one of the earbuds from his ears and holds it out to Hinata in offering. “I thought you might want to listen with me. You know, until I can make you a mix of your own.”

Hinata looks down at Goshiki’s hand. “Oooh, yeah. Sure!” He grins and tucks the bud in his ear before snuggling in closer again. “This one’s nice,” Hinata says after moment, brown eyes lifting to meet Goshiki’s. “It reminds me of you – s’really elegant. You should learn it. Or! Oh! We could learn it together.”

“Like a duet?”

Hinata’s face lights up. “Yes! _Exactly_ like a duet!”

“A duet with only a trumpet and a violin?” Goshiki asks, dubious.

“Tch, naysayer,” Hinata complains. “We’re gonna make _amazing_ music together. You just don’t know it yet, but you—” Hinata yawns, his breath warm against Goshiki’s skin— “You’ll see.”

Rather than argue, Goshiki smiles back and returns his attention to the music playing through his earphones. It doesn’t take long before Hinata’s fallen asleep on Goshiki’s shoulder again. Goshiki doesn’t wake him this time, even when Hinata starts to drool a little.

 _It’s bizarre seeing Hinata like this – still, quiet, peaceful,_ Goshiki thinks in amusement. His grin wavers when he notices the way Hinata’s shivering against him. Slowly, carefully, he shrugs out of his Shiratorizawa school jacket and drapes it over Hinata’s shoulders.

 _Purple,_ Goshiki observes, _is a good color on Hinata._

_Hinata’s wearing **Goshiki’s** clothes. _

The jacket fits him all wrong – the sleeves droop endearingly. Goshiki’s suffering and he has nobody to blame but himself.

If there was ever any hope of getting over this ridiculous crush of his, it’s surely lost now.

 

“What do you mean I can’t keep it?” Hinata whines later, when Goshiki’s walking back with him from their train stop. “It’s so comfy.”

“You can’t wear it unless you go to Shiratorizawa,” Goshiki tells Hinata.

“Owo! So it’s kind of like I was _undercover_ when I wore it!” Hinata looks delighted by this observation.

Goshiki levels him with an impressed look and says, “I need it for school.”

“Fiiiine,” Hinata sighs. “You can have it back.” He pouts as he tugs the jacket from his shoulders and hoists it between them for Goshiki to take back. Goshiki puts his jacket back on. “Just so long as you promise to lend it to me sometimes.”

Goshiki isn’t given the opportunity to process that, because it’s just then that they reach the crosswalk where Hinata and Goshiki usually part ways.

Goshiki turns to face Hinata. “ _Wait,_ Shouyou.”

He tugs at Hinata’s sleeve and Hinata stops walking.

“Tomorrow, at your show—do your best!”

“Thanks!” Hinata grins and lifts up onto his toes, his hands gripping at Goshiki’s sleeves as he presses his lips to Goshiki’s. The kiss lasts for only a short, blessed second - and then Hinata pulls away again. “For good luck.”

Hinata leaves Goshiki frozen at the crosswalk, his jaw hanging open as his heart thumping rabidly in his chest.

 _Maybe._ Maybe he doesn’t have to get over his ridiculous crush, after all. 

~*~

The night of the performance, Goshiki brings Hinata a bouquet of roses. 

When he gets to the front of the line at the club, he boasts to its surly-looking bouncer, “I’m actually here by _invite_. My name should be on the list.” Goshiki shifts back and forth on his feet, brows raising as he tries to peer over the bouncer’s shoulder. 

“There’s no list,” the man grunts. With a long-suffering sigh, he says, “Can you hold out your wrist?”

Enthusiasm not wavering, Goshiki adds, “I’m good friends with the band’s trumpeter.” _Maybe – possibly -- something even more than that_ , Goshiki considers, as the bouncer rolls his eyes and ties an ‘underage’ wristband around Goshiki’s wrist.

“Good for you, kid.” 

 

Once inside, Goshiki finds a free chair at a round table nearby the stage. His eyes dart around the room as he takes in the heavy stench of scotch, the red lamps adorning each table, the dancers wearing fanciful sequins, tuxes, tassels and elated smiles. He instantly recognizes Hinata among them by his bright orange mane. Goshiki’s already smiling and rising from his chair, his hand raised to catch Hinata’s attention - when he looks closer and sees that Hinata’s not alone.

He’s dancing with a petite blonde. Hinata’s twirling her in a loose circle, their hips jerking, arms swinging, feet kicking up in the air as they grin at each other. Goshiki’s mouth drops open when Hinata lifts her up over his shoulder and onto the dancefloor in one fluid motion, all while still holding onto her hand. 

 

Goshiki’s stomach lurches. He crushes the plastic wrapper of the bouquet in his hands.

He should leave. Maybe he’d just read into things last night—

Hinata’s eyes meet Goshiki’s.

And, to Goshiki’s surprise, Hinata stops dancing. He twirls the blonde closer and then whispers something in her ear - something that makes her laugh and push Hinata in Goshiki’s direction.

“Tsutomu, hey!” Hinata yells over the loud thump of the music, a broad smile on his face as he parts his way through a sea of swirling, jiving couples. He pushes forward and weaves his way between the tables until he reaches Goshiki’s. “You _came_.”

“I said I would,” Goshiki answers defensively.

“You _did_ ,” Hinata agrees a little breathlessly, dropping down in the chair across from Goshiki. His eyes fall on the flowers Goshiki’s still clenching. “Did they insult your bowl cut? Is that why they had to die?” 

Goshiki flushes and loosens his grip considerably. “They insulted Louis Armstrong, actually.”

“Ah, well, that’s totally understandable, then,” Hinata says with a wink. “They deserved their fate.”

“These were, uh, actually for you. Sorry,” Goshiki says. He smoothes out the plastic and holds out the flowers towards Hinata. Hinata takes the bouquet from him. “I didn’t know which flowers you might like, so I went with…”

“Roses,” Hinata finishes. Hinata lifts the bouquet of red roses to his nose and sniffs. “Uwaa, they’re lovely, thank you! I’ll have to find ‘em a home at my dorm.”

Goshiki breathes a quiet sigh of relief.

Hinata sets the bouquet down in front of him, brown eyes shining with mischief as he says, “So what are the chances of us leaving these flowers here for a little while we go dance?” He arches his brows and reaches out his hand.

“But I—” Goshiki looks over at the blonde, who’s still watching them from a distance. “Wouldn’t we be giving your girlfriend the wrong idea about us?”

“My…?” Hinata’s eyebrows pull together and his shoulders sag as he follows Goshiki’s line of sight. “Oh. _Oh_.” His smirk returns to full intensity. “No, I think I’d be giving her exactly the right idea about us, actually.” 

Goshiki frowns. Hinata buries his laughter against the crook of his other elbow and explains, “Yachi’s not my girlfriend – she’s my band’s manager.”

_Oh._

Hinata holds out his hand again and wriggles his fingers in invitation. “C’mon, Tsutomu. Whaddaya say? May I have this dance?”

Goshiki’s heart jumps in his throat as he reaches out, callused fingertips just barely touching Hinata’s soft ones - when suddenly Hinata’s torn away from him by a taller man with short silver hair and a beauty mark on his cheek. 

“Sorry, boys,” the stranger injects. The corners of his eyes crinkle as he greets them with an apologetic smile. “You’ll have to save that dance for after the show. Our band’s supposed to be on stage in a few minutes, and we can’t perform without our trumpet virtuoso.”

Petulant, Hinata folds his arms across his chest and sputters, “But—but— _Suga_.”

Suga’s lips thin a tight smile, making it clear there’s no room for argument. “ _Hinata_.”

“Alright, I’m coming, I’m coming,” Hinata answers with a disappointed frown. He turns back to Goshiki and says, “Don’t go anywhere, yeah?”

“I won’t,” Goshiki swears solemnly.

Suga smirks, then pulls at Hinata’s collar, ushering the smaller man away from the table. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Goshiki. Enjoy the show.”

 

The club’s deathly silent as the stage curtains draw open to reveal an ensemble of ten musicians, each divided into three sections – rhythm, woodwind and brass. Their rhythm section’s comprised of a short drummer with an impish smile, a lanky bassist on double bass who looks like he doesn’t want to be there, and a raven-haired pianist whose aura practically radiates intensity as his hands hover over the keys in anticipation. In the woodwind section, they have a timid clarinet player and a tall, bearded degenerate playing the baritone. Suga, the man who’d whisked Hinata away, plays the saxophone as does the freckle-faced teen beside him. 

On the far right is the brass section. Hinata and his used trumpet are one half and the other half’s a bald-headed thug holding a trombone. 

Their guitar play, a man with cropped black hair and broad shoulders, reaches for the microphone as the stage lights lining the floor flicker on. “Welcome,” he drawls, thumbs tugging at his suspenders, “to the Crows’ Nest.”

The audience answers in enthusiastic cheers and shouts. Some of them snap their fingers together as they make their way onto the dance floor.

“Do you all want to hear some music tonight?”

The room shakes with the force of their applause.

“ _Whoo boy_ ,” their singer says, chuckling. He tips his top hat to the crowd. “We better get on with it then!” 

The music starts out slow and sultry, a haze of fog curling around them as the horns cue in and accelerate the tempo. Even those in their seats start shaking their shoulders and bobbing their heads along to the energetic melody. During their second song of the set, their pianist and Hinata are both given a solo and an opportunity to improvise over the simple chord progressions the rest of the band’s playing. . 

During his solo, their pianist sweeps his fingers along the keys with flourish. His hands are a flurried blur, his shoulders shake, and his knees jump as he rocks forward with the heavy pulse of the song. It’s nothing like any piano playing Goshiki’s ever seen performed – it’s spontaneous yet fluid, capricious yet elegant. _He’s a fitting duet partner for Hinata,_ Goshiki acknowledges begrudgingly. _An equal._

Hinata’s solo is something else entirely. 

Like always, Hinata’s hurricane of motion. He spins, shimmies, and twirls across the stage, fingers flittering along the valves in a frenzied dance as he tilts his head back and bellows out the deepest note Goshiki’s seen him hit. Goshiki still doesn’t understand jazz with its abstract melodies, syncopated beats, and frenetic rhythms, _but maybe_ , he thinks, maybe he doesn’t _have_ to understand. Maybe Hinata—maybe _jazz_ just is. It asks nothing of its listener but movement.

And even Goshiki’s not immune to its call. He looks down and finds himself drumming his fingers against the tablecloth.

As the band plays into their set, Goshiki swears he can feel the music shaking the very foundation of the club. On the dance floor, couples spin faster, faster, and faster, and Goshiki’s own heart soars with the music. He inhales sharply at the way the soft white light catches in the fan of Hinata’s lashes and arches over the curve of his cheekbones. Even when surrounded by nine other musicians, Hinata steals the show. Everything about Hinata’s presence demands attention – from his unabashed grins to his easy swagger to his wild cadence. Goshiki can’t look away.

He’s played _against_ Hinata before, as his rival, but this time Goshiki seriously considers what it’d be like playing alongside him instead. The two of them would share elated smiles, reveling in the spotlight as they created music that was uniquely theirs.

When their set comes to close an hour later, Goshiki’s still thinking about it.

Goshiki’s heart jumps in his throat, his ears still buzzing from the music as Hinata waves him over from where he’s sitting at the bar with bandmates. Goshiki crosses the floor, crushed flowers in hand, and only barely manages to avoid getting kicked by one of the more zealous dancers. 

“Hey! Hi! I have some people I want you to meet,” Hinata says. He points each of his bandmates as he introduces them in order: “So this Daichi, Tsukishima, Nishinoya, Asahi, Tanaka, Ennoshita, Yamaguchi and Kageyama. They’re my band! And guys, this is—”

“Goshiki,” Tsukishima guesses. “We know. You talk about ad nauseam.” 

Hinata’s nose is scrunching. “Ad whatnow?”

“It means excessively, to the point where I’m physically nauseated by it,” Tsukishima explains, as he lifts two fingers to adjust his glasses.

“ _Oh_ ,” Hinata says. His eyes narrow when Tsukishima’s definition finally registers. “Oi, I do not!”

Hinata’s bandmates snicker.

“Goshiki Tsutomu doesn’t play music,” Tsukishima says, imitating Hinata’s voice. “He performs _miracles_ with his bow.” He sighs wistfully and touches his hands to his own face for effect.

Suga nudges the bassist and hisses, “Tsukishima, be nice.”

Heat trails from Goshiki’s ears down to the dip of his collar as he looks between the three of them in search of confirmation.

“That’s—that was an _exaggeration!_ ” Hinata squeaks.

Speech forsakes Goshiki entirely. Words rise to the tip of his tongue and tangle there. Had Ushijima’s playing ever been equated to unexplained acts of divinity? Goshiki doubts it. Sure, a week ago, Reon speculated that their orchestra’s perfection could only be improved upon if they were to enter an alternate dimension and recruit a _second_ Ushijima Wakatoshi, but still—

“I just hope our ‘ruckus’ didn’t offend your delicate sensibilities,” their bassist says, his lips curling in a menacing smile.

“Uh—”

Hinata gestures frantically. “Oi, he apologized for that!”

Daichi drops down from his stool. “Alright, everyone. I think we should give the lovebirds some space. Goshiki, it was good meeting you.” He squeezes Goshiki on the shoulder as he passes by, a gesture that feels strangely paternal.

Goshiki waits until Hinata’s bandmates aren’t within hearing distance to lean in close and say, “You, um, you were really good back there.” 

“Thanks!” Hinata smiles sheepishly and rubs at the back of his neck. “I did my best, but there were a few parts that could have been tighter, y’know? I still have a long way to go before I can call myself a true musician. One day I’ll get there, but for now I’m still a nobody. Insignificant.”

Goshiki stares in disbelief. How could Hinata claim such a thing after a riveting performance like that? “Well I thought…” Goshiki swallows. His cheeks flame as he bows and yells out, “Tonight—how you played—I thought you were incredibly cool, Shouyou!”

Hinata’s eyes lift to Goshiki’s face as he asks, “You really thought so?”

“The _coolest_ ,” Goshiki declares. “Those things your bassist said… is that true? Did you say those things about me?”

Hinata draws his lip between his teeth. “Not…those exact words, I don’t think,” he says. “It’s just that…when you really get into your music, it reminds me of the first time I saw Maynard Ferguson on TV. Like, did you know that when you hit that nice vibrato note you get so into it that your eyes just kinda, fall half-closed? You just look so _happy_ to be creating something so beautiful.” Hinata tugs at his own bowtie as he laughs. “Jeez, I don’t know why I thought that’d be less corny than what Tsukishima told you.”

“It’s not corny,” Goshiki says, heart thundering in his chest. “ _It’s…_ ” For a second time, words fail him. 

So, Goshiki abandons words entirely. He surges forward and cups Hinata’s face in his hands as he presses their lips together. It’s a clumsy kiss, the kind where teeth knock together and noses bump and they can feel each other’s historical laughter against their lips as they cling to each other. 

“Ah, hold on, lemme just try—” Hinata’s words do very little to prepare Goshiki for the way his teeth suddenly drag gently over Goshiki’s bottom lip as he twists his fingers in Goshiki’s hair.

“What was _that_ ,” Goshiki pants.

“Improvisation?” Hinata replies, pulling back slightly. Under the bar’s dim lights, Goshiki notices Hinata’s lips are red and swollen. He wonders if they got that way from playing the trumpet or from kissing. “My bad, I shouldn’t—”

“It’s okay!” Goshiki interrupts. In a quieter voice, he says, “I liked it.”

“Oh.” It takes Hinata a long moment, but then he’s drawing close, his eyes half-lidded as he reels Goshiki in by the loops of his pants. He kisses along the underside of Goshiki’s jaw and murmurs, “Hey, I still owe you a dance, don’t I?”

“I’m not going be very good at it,” Goshiki warns as he shudders. But he turns over his palm and reaches for Hinata’s hand. 

“That’s cool, just follow my lead,” Hinata advises, a smile playing on his lips as he jumps down from his stool and twines his fingers with Goshiki’s. “I— _Holy shit_.” He looks down at where their hands are connected, his eyes wide and blinking. “Um.”

“Musicians’ hands,” Goshiki says in apology. He goes to pull his hand from Hinata’s, but Hinata just holds on tighter.

“No, I like it.” Hinata’s touch is uncharacteristically gentle as he brushes his fingers over the rough grooves of Goshiki’s hands, his fingertips ghosting across each callus like a soft caress. As they weave their way between the other dancers, Hinata says, “It’s sorta like each one’s a badge, representing all the hard work you’ve put for your craft - or, oh, like they’re _battle scars_!”

Goshiki snorts, secretly preening as he lets Hinata lead him onto the dance floor. “I hadn’t thought of it like that before.”

“It’s badass,” Hinata says with conviction. He’s smiling again as he spins Goshiki under his arm.

Goshiki feels panic rise in his throat when he remembers the way Hinata had easily thrown the girl over his shoulder. “You’re not gonna toss me, are you?”

“No,” Hinata answers with a laugh. He rakes his fingers through his orange hair, and his other hand slides down to the small of Goshiki’s back. He does, however, reach for Goshiki’s hand again, then dips him so that Goshiki’s feet don’t touch the ground.

“You’re supposed to kick your legs out a bit,” Hinata instructs as he steadies Goshiki back down onto his feet. “I think you’re starting to get the hang out of it, though.”

“All m’getting is a headache,” Goshiki complains. How the hell does Hinata swivel his hips like that?

Hinata snickers and rocks him forward again. They dance side by side, back to back, and then turn again. “You’re having fun though,” he points out.

“Am _not_.”

“Are too. Why’re you smiling so much, then?” Hinata asks - and, okay, _yeah_. Goshiki’s face throbs with the pain of smiling so hard. It’s this dumb dance and this dumb music and Hinata’s dumb face, all of which make it impossible not to feel at least a little bit happy.

“Okay, fine. I am. Just a little,” he admits. “And about what Tsukishima said—”

“All in the past, its fine,” Hinata says, waving off Goshiki’s apology.

“No it’s just—I was wrong,” Goshiki continues. “About you. The things you can do…they’re amazing.” He lets himself be guided by the push and pull of Hinata’s movements. “ _You’re_ amazing.”

Hinata grins. “It’s alright. I didn’t mean all rude the stuff I said about you either.”

“The—?” Goshiki stops dancing. Hinata almost steps on his toes.

“Well yeah, y’know. When we first met, I maybe told my band that the reason you were so high-strung was because you had a violin bow shoved up your—”

“Oh my god,” Goshiki groans into his hands. “I’m breaking up with you.”

“Break—” Hinata loses rhythm completely. He stumbles into Goshiki’s arms and braces his hands against Goshiki’s chest as they both sway forward. “Ooomf.” His gaze is hopeful as he purses his lips and peeks up at Goshiki. “You, um, you can’t dump me if we aren’t dating. Unless you wanted to…?”

Goshiki looks at Hinata through the gaps between his fingers as heat rises to his cheeks again. Is this seriously how Hinata’s going about this? He marvels at the ridiculousness of his own life as he huffs and says, “Shouyou. Will you go out with me?”

“ _Yes._ ” Hinata leaps up on the balls of his feet and peppers Goshiki’s face with kisses. “Best night _ever._ ”

That night, they walk home together hand in hand. Goshiki’s feet hurt like hell from all the dancing, but he can’t concentrate on any sensation besides the warm of Hinata’s cheek pressed against his shoulder.

“So,” Hinata says as he sighs happily and sifts his fingers through Goshiki’s hair. “I have this friend who plays electric violin—”

Goshiki bites back a smile as he shakes his head. “ _Now_ you’re pushing it.”

Hinata giggles and turns, tucking his hands into Goshiki’s front pockets as he boops their noses together. “Fine,” he huffs, eyes still gleaming. When he pulls Goshiki in for another kiss, Goshiki can feel the curve of Hinata’s grin in every lingering press of their lips. He laughs against Goshiki’s mouth and hums, “We’ll put a pin it in.” 

“ _Not_ gonna happen,” Goshiki murmurs as he captures Hinata’s lips with his own. “Not in a million years.”

“Mmm, we’ll see.”

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr](http://tobioslilgiant.tumblr.com/) l [Twitter](https://twitter.com/ambyguity_)
> 
> Okay so wow uh first oh all remind me to never again attempt a music AU, this was more involved than I could have ever imagined
> 
> Second of all: Shoutout to Becky, Megan and Betsy for helping me brainstorm ideas. Betsy played such a major role in this by prompting the fic, sending me music, and then beta'ing through my scrambled sentences this fic wouldn't exist without her. and of course thank you Jess for looking it over again for me ^^
> 
> i'd like to make a mix for this but the following music makes an appearance in this fic:
> 
>  
> 
> [Libertango by Naoko Terai](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KDKPiR8ghR0)  
> [Bach 's Chaconne for Solo Violin (Goshiki only plays part 1)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5bVRTtcWmXI)  
> [Benny Goodman - Sing Sing Sing](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6_YG9XBX04Y)  
> [Maynard Ferguson - Birdland](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=idGvKFbYgI4)  
> [Dave Brubeck - Take Five](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vmDDOFXSgAs)  
> [Stephane Grappelli - Minor Swing (34:00)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-lVC7Zv_Hxo)  
> [Nina Simone - Feeling Good](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D5Y11hwjMNs)  
> [Madeleine Peyroux - dance me to the end of love](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AqpOFQvMM1A)  
> [La vie en rose - Louis Armstrong](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8IJzYAda1wA)  
> [Minuet 3 - Suzuki](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pCcQyxK_DgY)
> 
>  
> 
> NOT IN THE FIC BUT: [Big Bad Voodoo Daddy - Jumpin' Jack](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TEWuZ0QBvlo)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [rhythm & melody](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9624515) by [owlinaminor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlinaminor/pseuds/owlinaminor)




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